I'm sorry, I didn't know
by PineappleoftheLordAssbutts
Summary: This is a tribute to all the people who died on that horrid day, our country will respect and remember you. Always. I hope you guys like this, I'm kinda just spewing stuff out here. But idk. There is blood, so don't read if you're squeamish, um yeah. Hope you get feels!


_**Hey guys! I know this is a little late, well… a lot late, but the idea has been banging around in my brain and I finally worked up the patience to write it all down. This is for all the people who risked their lives, and sacrificed them to save innocent citizens from blind rage. Thank you, all of you, you are in our thoughts.**_

_**I don't own anything except the random OC that may or may not come in again… I don't know. Hope you like it!**_

It was a Saturday, _usually_ America's favorite day. But, there was a United Nations meeting today. Joy, right? He was awake at 6:00 am, courtesy of England's damn phone call.

Just because the meeting was being held in London, England was being all snotty. Well, more so than usual. America sat up on his bed and blearily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Mumbling curses under his breath, he flopped his hand around the bedside desk to find his glasses.

America sighed as he heard them clatter to the ground. He slid off the mattress and in one quick motion, swept them off the ground and positioned them on his face.

Yawning, he ran a hand through his hair and walked over to his closet. He swung the double doors open and surveyed the array of clothes hung on clothes hangers.

_Now,_ he thought to himself, narrowing his eyes. _What should I wear?_

America nodded to the cab driver as he closed the door of the yellow car. He made his way toward the door of whatever this big building was. England had told him and he had _totally_ been listening (yeah right…).

The nation adjusted his suit, pushed his glasses further up his nose, and pushed open the door. In all aspects of attractiveness, the room wasn't that bad. Obviously anywhere in his own country would have been better, but it was okay.

As America walked around, he spotted a sign that said how many floors there were. He had been studying it, trying to figure out where the meeting might be, when he felt a hand lightly tap his shoulder.

He spun around, and was met with short-haired blonde with blue eyes and a nametag that read "Luka." He smiled down at her and she smiled back, and then looked at the suit.

"You're here for the meeting?" She said, in an _American_ accented voice. America's smile brightened. "Yep! Um, would you happen to know what floor it's on?"

Luka glared at him playfully. "I do work here, don't I? The U.N. meeting, or whatever that guy called it, is on the top floor." America nodded at her and slipped a card into her hand.

"It's my business card. For, you know, business." He said uncertainly. Luka read over the card and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "All it has is a number, smart one. Nice move by the way. I _might_ just have to keep hold of this."

America rolled his eyes and started toward the elevator. "See ya later!" He called over his shoulder with a wave, then pushed the "up" elevator button.

There was a chime and the door slid open. America slipped inside and hit the button that said '10th floor.' He whistled along to the random tune being played inside the elevator. He glanced at his watch at the door opened and he stepped out.

7:30. Good! He was on time… for once. He could tell which the right room was as soon as he stepped into the hallway.

There were shouts and sounds of loud arguments coming from the door to his right. Taking a deep breath and muttering "I'm gonna big time regret this," he opened the door to the conference. He had been right.

England was yelling at France, Germany was fuming, Romano was yelling at his brother, Hungary was chasing Prussia around the room, you know, the usual.

America sighed and settled into the only empty seat, between England and Italy. He swung the stupid briefcase that he never even opened but England made him bring onto the table and put his head into his hands.

He hadn't been feeling that great since he woke up, but he contributed that to the stupidity of his brother hosting it in England and not in New York (which would have been _so_ much better).

He rubbed his temples and sat back up in his chair as Germany addressed the nations of the world to begin the meeting… which he was totally going to listen to.

At 7:59, he began to feel uneasy. He remembered the times exactly because they would later be engraved into his mind.

He shifted around in his seat, his brows wrinkling together as he tried to find the source of the anxiety. America started to slowly ease out of his seat, but his brother grabbed his arm and held him firm to the seat.

"Where do you think you're going?" England hissed in his ear. America pushed away his brother's arm and rolled his eyes.

"Making a phone call idiot." America whispered back, standing up from his chair. Germany kept talking but looked over and raised an eyebrow. America pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up. Germany nodded and turned back to the table.

America silently slipped out of the room and dialed the number of the president.

"Alfred? Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?"

"I am, but is everything okay down there?" America could practically _hear_ the question in President Bush's voice. "Yeah, we're fine. Any reason you called?" America shook his head, then remembered Bush couldn't see him.

"Not really. Just wanted to be sure. Thanks dude." With that, America snapped his phone shut and just stood there in the hall for a few seconds.

Then, he shook his head and stepped back into the meeting. He sat back into his chair and pushed his misgivings away, trying to pay some attention to the growing racket. He leaned forward and rubbed his temples.

Japan, who had risen to avoid being tackled by a tangle of fighting nations, put on hand on America's shoulder. "America-san? Are you feering arright?"

America looked up to see concern darkening the eyes of the Japanese country. America nodded and gave what he hoped what a convincing smile. But by the look on Japan's face, it hadn't been much.

"I'm fine, Japan. Just, my brother decided waking me up at 6:00 this morning was "just dandy." America said, mimicking England.

Japan's expression didn't change, but he gave up trying to get anything out of America and backed up to stand against the wall. America leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes, trying to finally relax.

Over the next half hour, the meeting had calmed down and America had grown more and more anxious. His leg started to shake unconsciously and he started drumming his fingers against the wood table. He glanced at his watch, trying to see how much time had gone by.

8:44. Only an hour and 44 minutes had gone by. America gave a silent sigh and turned his head to Germany who was discussing… something.

He honestly didn't know at this point. Italy, who apparently hadn't listening either, put his small hands on America's larger one in a concerning gesture.

"America? Is-a everything alright?" America didn't reply, just shrugged. The Italian pulled his hands back but glanced at America with worry in his green eyes.

America ignored him and folded his arms on the table. After a few minutes of everyone else speaking, warning bells started to ring in his brain. He closed his eyes for a second and tried something that he hadn't used in a long, long time.

He catapulted his mind back to his own country and started searching for something, anything. He finally centered on New York, where there was a plane heading straight for the World Trade Centers.

He told his brain that they were going to go around, when he realized 5 people in the cockpit weren't American citizens, and they're intentions were hostile. His eyes snapped open as he realized what was about to happen.

America stood up sharply from the table, his chair flying back into the wall from the force. All the nations fell silent around him. America's eyes darted from side to side in pure terror.

"They're gonna hit it!" He yelled, and then screamed in pain. The American nation collapsed to the ground and clasped his hands to his hands to his chest.

Agony, agony was all he knew for an entire 5 minutes. He was dimly aware of a chorus of voices rising up all around him.

Nations from all across the world were standing up in confusion and horror. He felt England and Canada kneel beside him and turn him over.

America could hear blood-chilling screams fill the room, the hair on his arms rising from the horrifying sound. Then, he realized, it was him.

He was still screaming. He faintly heard his brothers yelling him name. Yes, Canada was yelling, but he didn't care.

He was thrown into a scene in front of the World Trade Center. There was fire, fire and smoke and screaming and people dying and it was all too much.

But, for the life of him, he couldn't look away. Suddenly, he was inside the tower, watching as flame barreled down the elevator shafts, completely obliterating 3 entire floors.

The ball of flame burst into the ground floor and destroyed the west side of the lobby.

He could only watch in horror as people, _his_ people, launched themselves out of the windows on the top floors to escape burning alive.

Then, he was back in the present, England and Canada's faces above him with expressions of worry. Only then, did he realize there were tears streaming down his face. America didn't really know how much time had passed, before the _second_ one hit.

He yelled out again, as another gash stretched itself down the right side of his body. He could see it again, New York.

Both towers were only balls of flame with smoke clouds billowing out of them. He looked up at the faces of his brothers. "They hit them."He said quietly between silent sobs.

"Hit what?" England practically yelled, trying to figure out what had happened that had so severely injured his brother. "The World Trade Centers." Canada said quietly, looking into America's face for confirmation.

America nodded and closed his eyes tight. He sat there, writhing in pain, sorrow, and horror as Americans died every second.

He clutched at England's jacket and screamed again as another wound scored its mark down his back. America felt something warm all around him, and realized it was blood.

He was covered, in blood.

"The Pentagon!" He screamed out as the building was consumed by flames. "No!" The voice that he heard come out of his mouth didn't even sound like his own. But he didn't care.

He was still crying, but now the tears streaming down his face were mixed with blood and ash, which had slowly been materializing from his face. He later realized that it was because of the clouds of ash that were barreling down the streets and smothering people.

Then, America felt something sweep over him, a mixture of emotions that left him confused, and hurt, and joyed. There had been a fourth hijacked plane.

But his citizens had taken back over it and crashed it into a field. He felt a small smile creep onto his lips and he opened his eyes. "They saved me." He whispered, much to the confusion of his brothers.

Then America fell silent.

The smile disappeared, the tears stopped, all emotion left his body. Even as another wound carved itself along the side of his face and down his neck, he was silent. No screaming, no reaction at all. Just, silence.

"They're gone." He choked, staring into nothingness. "The twins. They're… gone." He continued to sit like that, while other nations raged and wept, and the more stoic countries remained silent along with him, rage playing across their features.

"America," Canada said sharply. "What do you mean?" At the nation's continued silence, England shook him by the shoulders, causing a wince of pain.

"What do you mean America?" He yelled. All the other countries were quiet, and only the sounds of sobs interrupted the silence.

"The twins… collapsed. All the people, all the police, all the firefighters, they're all gone. Dead. Everyone's… just dead."

He said, without a trace of any emotion but pure, utter despair.

Ignored by everyone except Japan, who had been watching the emotions on the young man's face, Afghanistan stood stock still in horror, tears running down his face.

"I'm sorry, America." He whispered almost silently.

"I didn't know."

_**Well, that ending though. I honestly don't know if I'll keep writing this. I'll give it a while to see if anyone reads it at all, but I'll most likely put up a part two. Hope this contained some feels. I literally wrote everything except the first paragraph tonight because I'm amazing. I hope you guys liked this and if you did, please tell me! Ily, byeeeeeeeee!**_e He


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